*
Anne lay in the crook of his arm with the empty pizza box lying on top of the quilt. It was her favourite cream quilt cover and although the last few hours of love making had been fabulous she now fought the urge to move the box so the cover wouldn’t get smeared with tomato sauce. However, she resisted as Tom was still murmuring in her ear about how carefree and fantastic she’d been and how he’d been thinking of making love to her all day in the new position they’d just tried.
Tom had actually read about the position in one of the erotica novels he’d downloaded the day before and had decided the writer must be male as it had given him so much more pleasure than the woman in the scene. Not being the type of man who liked to look at porn magazines, as they left him emotionally cold, Tom had to concede that the sex scene had been so well written that it actually turned him on. So much so, that he’d spent time in the bathroom relieving himself and that, Tom decided, had to be the sign of a good writer.
The new position, however, had been something he’d intended to try out with Ellie, as she was thinner with an easier range of movement, but he’d remembered the scene just before he’d pushed into Anne and decided there was no time like the present. He smiled complacently, knowing his writing was certainly opening up new chapters in his life that he wouldn’t have dreamt of a few months ago.
Anne hadn’t been too sure of the new position as he’d pulled her bottom towards the edge of the bed. She fully understood that, unlike Tom, she wasn’t an adventurous type and had only gone along with it to please him. Now, as she lay beside him, she knew the sight of her big thighs up in the air must have looked hideous, even if, as he always maintained, her flabby cellulite didn’t bother him. She sighed heavily, wishing there was a magic pill she could take to lose weight. It didn’t seem to matter what she tried, she could never lose a decent amount of weight, and the little she did manage to lose automatically dropped off her small breasts – never her belly or bottom from where she needed to lose it. She exhaled noisily into his shoulder, thinking of the extra calories in the pizza she’d eaten.
‘Anne,’ he said warily, ‘I need to talk to you about Christmas Day.’
Tom’s words startled her and she quickly snapped out of her reverie; the tone of his careful voice instantly put her on guard.
Tom prayed she was still in a good mood as he ran his hand up and down her leg. He could hear the steady beat of her heart quicken slightly against his chest as he stroked the back of her hair with his other hand. He took a deep breath and began, ‘I don’t quite know how to say this, but I’ve been reading about the homeless people in the city and how volunteers go to a centre to serve them a hot turkey dinner on Christmas Day. And well, it’s something I’d like to take part in.’
Anne couldn’t believe what she’d just heard and sat up abruptly. She pushed his hands from her body and stared down into his face. At first she’d thought he was joking, but now she could see in the dim bedside light that his eyes were earnest.
She pulled her eyebrows together and shook her head slightly. ‘What?’
Tom explained about all the young people sleeping out on the streets in the cold and how he wanted to help. He gave her the statistics he’d read on The Salvation Army website and told her how keenly he’d been moved until he felt he had to join in with their efforts. ‘I mean, I don’t have money to give, but I can offer my services in other ways. Even if it’s just setting the tables in the centre or washing dishes afterwards. It’s just something I feel I need to do. It’s called giving something back to the community.’
Anne shook her head rapidly in disbelief. He was serious. She swallowed hard, fighting a mixture of emotions. ‘You…you mean you don’t want to spend Christmas Day with me?’
Tom smiled and made a tutting noise in the back of his throat. ‘Of course I do – you silly goose,’ he said, placing a hand softly on her flushed cheek. ‘But, it won’t be for all day. If I go along at twelve to help out I’ll be back by four.’
Anne struggled to understand why he would even want to do this. She couldn’t remember him ever mentioning charitable good works in the past. In fact she recalled one occasion when they’d walked past the train station and how Tom had stopped her from dropping a pound coin into a man’s begging tin, claiming he’d only spend it on booze or drugs. Anne asked more questions about the centre and he explained about how many young people there were now and how it wasn’t just about old vagrants and tramps sleeping rough.
Tom held his breath as he watched his wife’s eyes and mind digest the information. Slowly and patiently he counted to ten, and then tried again, ‘Can you understand how I feel, sweetheart?’
Anne gaped at her husband. She felt in some respects as though she was in bed with a different man. Although any type of change scared her, she remembered her previous thoughts at work and how desolate her life would be if she lost him. Anne pondered. If she turned into a shrew that scolded and mistrusted him at every turn, then her worst nightmare might come true and he could leave her for a woman who was willing to embrace all the new things in his life.
Slowly she nodded. ‘Is this something to do with your writing course?’
Tom breathed out hard immediately, latching on to the idea. ‘Oh yes, and of course, I’ll be helping out people who aren’t as lucky as me; they haven’t got what I have, ’ he said, taking one of her hands and squeezing it tightly. ‘Plus, I could develop lots of different characters for my work with the space and time to take notes.’
Anne felt as though she didn’t have any choice other than to agree. ‘Okay. It will only be for four hours?’
Tom relaxed his shoulders, knowing she was coming round to the idea. ‘Most definitely,’ he said. ‘We can have a lovely breakfast together and open our presents from under the tree, then I’ll shoot off and by the time I get back you’ll have cooked us our own great dinner.’
Anne smiled and suddenly had a thought. ‘Or,’ she said brightly, ‘I could come with you. If I say so myself, I’m a great cook and could help them in the kitchen at the centre.’
‘Nooo,’ he muttered, feeling his stomach flip over in panic and alarm. ‘Now isn’t that just typical of you,’ Tom said, tilting his head onto one side, ‘always putting me and everyone else before yourself. No, darling, you stay here and cook our dinner.’
Anne simpered and swooned as she watched Tom get up from the bed and walk towards the bathroom. Her heart swelled, full of love for the magnanimous gesture he was prepared to make on Christmas Day of all days. He was like a modern-day hero in one of her Mills and Boon series, and although she knew that Sharon and her mum thought she was naive and trusting to the point of stupidity when it came to her husband, this was the sincere side of Tom they never saw.
Tom stood in front of the hand basin and raised his hands above his head together in victory, as though he’d scored a goal at Wembley. You played a blinder, my son, and sincerely prayed his plan would keep everyone full of good-hearted spirit on Christmas Day.
However, as he stepped to the hand basin and lathered his hands with soap he thought about the actual realities of the day and frowned. Could he do it? Could he possibly eat two Christmas lunches in the same day? There would be turkey with all the trimmings followed by Christmas pudding at twelve mid-day and then turkey seconds at four in the afternoon. He rubbed his flat stomach and smiled, remembering the TV sitcom, The Vicar of Dibley. Dawn French had been too embarrassed to let any of her parishioners down and had eaten her way through three Christmas lunches. So, he thought happily, I’ll just be doing the same thing; four hours of the day with Ellie and her fabulous breasts then home to Anne.
Chapter Eleven
On Christmas morning Tom lazily opened his eyes and felt the empty space behind him where Anne usually slept wrapped around his back with her leg draped over his hips. It had taken a while when they’d first met to get used to the intimate closeness in bed, and the cotton nightshirt she wore. He’d been used to the, love ʼem
and leave ʼem type of sex, and in the couple of longish relationships he’d had the women had been what he classed as cold fish like himself, and had kept to their own side of the bed. But from his first night in bed with Anne, she’d enveloped him in her warm moulds of flesh that cuddled and sometimes smothered him in her loving embrace. It was something he’d become used to very quickly, and now he hated the cold space behind him if she got up early and wasn’t there. Groggily, he looked over at the radio alarm clock noting it was just before nine, and then heard the sound of Christmas carols flowing up the staircase.
Realising it was Christmas morning, Tom threw the quilt aside, ran into the bathroom to splash water on his face, and quickly brush his teeth. Humming along to “I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing in on Christmas Day in the Morning”, he galloped downstairs in his boxer shorts and saw her in the kitchen pouring freshly percolated coffee into two mugs. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I woke up and you weren’t there.’
Anne smiled and pulled the cord on her dressing gown tighter around her middle. ‘I wanted to put the turkey in the oven and then I was going to bring this coffee back upstairs with me.’
Tom grinned mischievously and took the cord from her hands and pulled it loose. Opening her dressing gown wide he put both his arms around her waist and buried his face into her neck. ‘Happy Christmas to my gorgeous, beautiful wife,’ he murmured.
With her arms around his waist she hugged him so tightly Tom thought for a moment that his ribs were going to crack under the pressure. ‘Happy Christmas, Tom,’ she breathed.
On Christmas Eve they’d both had too much to drink with friends in the pub and had staggered home, falling into drunken stupors the moment they climbed into bed. Now, Tom took a deep breath and ignored the stirrings in his shorts. Any other morning, he thought, I would take her here and now, but thinking about what lay ahead for the day, he determined to pace himself.
As if on cue, he felt Anne push her small hand down into his shorts, but before she could do any real damage he retrieved it and kissed the palm. ‘That can wait, Anne. But what can’t wait are those presents under the tree. Can we open them now?’
Anne giggled. ‘Okay. We’ll open one each and then have breakfast.’
They crept into the lounge and Tom switched on the fairy lights while Anne turned up the radio and a choir of sweet young voices filled the room, singing “Away in a Manger, no Crib for a Bed”. Tom perched on the edge of the red settee sipping coffee as she handed him a parcel. Feeling like a child again, he ripped the paper and bow aside and smiled with pleasure at a green woollen scarf.
‘Just perfect for the cold mornings,’ he said, winding the scarf loosely around his neck. He gave Anne a parcel that he’d hastily wrapped in the same paper the night before.
Anne cried in surprise at a small bottle of her favourite perfume. ‘Touché − this is perfect too,’ she said and he pulled her on to the settee as she sprayed some behind her ear.
‘Hmm, glamorous and sophisticated,’ he said. ‘Now, I’m going to shower and then we’ll have scrambled eggs and open some of the other parcels.’
The rest of the morning passed happily and Tom was gobsmacked at the new tablet Anne had bought for him. She too seemed to love the gold heart-shaped locket with a tiny red stone in the corner that he’d chosen for her.
By eleven, as Anne stood in the kitchen peeling vegetables, Tom called cheerio and hurried out of the door.
*
Walking swiftly down the West Road into the city centre, Tom remembered the night before when they were in the pub and how everyone except himself had been wishing for a white Christmas. Thankfully their wishes hadn’t come true. He’d secretly dreaded a fall of snow as he had a forty minute walk ahead of him because there were no buses or metros running. The main road was practically devoid of traffic and the streets were empty. He whistled and walked quickly, wearing his green cashmere sweater, which was an unexpected gift from his mother-in-law in Spain.
Anne had told him what Sharon and her mother had said before they were married, which at the time hadn’t unduly upset him, but now it made him all the more determined to prove them wrong. Just wait until I’m making money at my new career, he thought, day-dreaming of his new novel sitting proudly on the shelves in Waterstones. He would make a particular point of posting her a copy as he wasn’t sure whether English paperback novels would be available in Spain. Hopefully at the same time he’d be able to wave an advance cheque for the follow-up novel under her nose.
The dream of writing a novel drove his thoughts to Ellie and how much he longed to see her and talk about his latest piece of work. He had to ignore her texts last night when he was with Anne in the pub, but then towards midnight he’d hidden in the toilets and left Ellie a voice message, claiming his mobile was playing up. Once again, he congratulated himself on the logical and believable excuse he’d been able to devise in an instant. In the past he’d always thought of these small indiscretions as little white lies that kept the people around him happy and content, but now, he decided, they were little sparks of inspiration which he could include when developing his characters traits.
As Tom neared the Dene he began to jog in his eagerness to see Ellie and to shake off the eerie atmosphere that seemed to hang around the frosted trees and bushes in the deserted park. As he passed their favourite bench he remembered the first time they’d sat together and how the spark of becoming a writer was born in his mind. He couldn’t have come this far without her and knew that deep down he was becoming a better person for facing up to the challenges in this new chapter of his life. It would have been so much easier to cast aside the idea of writing as something that was beyond him and find another dead-end job, but, he thought confidently, pulling his shoulders back, I’m making a real go of it. The words his tutor and writing buddies used when they read his work whirled around his mind as he jogged each step – constructive, promising, interesting, and one reader actually told him that he had a warm and sensitive voice which came through in his carefully chosen words.
Tom stopped as he neared the park gates that led on to the end of the street. He leant on the post and shook his head in disbelief; sometimes he still couldn’t believe that people thought the words he wrote merited these compliments. The staggering sense of achievement overwhelmed him at times; a feeling totally alien to him in the past. It was, he grinned, like an explosive, everlasting climax. Thinking of what was to come, he rang Ellie’s doorbell and patted the small jewellery box in his jacket pocket.
*
Following a lonely Christmas Eve, as Tom hadn’t answered any of her texts and her friends had all returned to their homes, it was taking all of Ellie’s resolve to stay cheerful that morning. It was the first time she’d ever woken up on Christmas morning without being in her own bedroom in Yorkshire, with her bulging Christmas stocking on the bottom of her bed. She was missing her parents dreadfully and although she’d spoken to them earlier, she felt terribly lonely in the flat. As she prepared the turkey Ellie thought of her mum doing the same in their warm, cosy kitchen and her dad pouring champagne. She swallowed big fat tears that threatened to escape from her eyes. It was only the knowledge that if she started to cry her eye make-up would be ruined and she would have to greet Tom with red, swollen eyes that stopped her from breaking down.
He’ll be here soon, she chanted to herself over and over again as she hurried around, making the flat as warm and welcoming as possible. Ellie desperately wanted to make this first Christmas Day together as cheerful as possible, especially as she believed Tom’s last two Christmases had been so dreadful.
At the sound of the doorbell Ellie took one last look around the lounge and smiled with satisfaction. The room was transformed, with white fairy lights and large silver stars hanging from the ceiling and six large white candles standing on the window ledges. She’d covered the old table with a white cloth and a silver table runner, placed silver crackers, wine glasses, and a small delicate vase of white roses as a cent
repiece. Tom’s Christmas gift was placed on his white dinner plate. As she hurried along the hall her stomach tumbled with excitement.
When Ellie opened the door wide she felt so happy she practically fell into his arms. ‘Oh God, I’ve missed you so much,’ she cried. ‘Happy Christmas, Tom.’
Tom stood inside the hall staring at the black lace dress she’d worn on their first night out together in town and grinned. He remembered how proud he’d felt to have her arm in his as they mooched around the nightclub and she’d danced in his arms. The dress looked just as good second time around, he thought, but the big difference this time was that he would be able to take it off. The thoughts of her body underneath were tantalising and waves of desire flooded through him. As he followed her into the lounge with Christmas songs playing and the beautifully laid table, he could see the huge effort she’d made, and he determined to keep his sexual feelings under wraps.
The smell of cooked turkey wafted from the kitchen as she struggled to open the bottle of red wine, which she told him was a gift from her father. Tom took the bottle from her as she held two small glasses waiting for him to pour. Sipping the wine, they stared at each other hesitatingly; this was different from their usual pattern of being together and for a second Tom felt a little uncomfortable. Their relationship wasn’t usually about domesticity; that side of his life was reserved for Anne and his home life. He frowned, feeling slightly out of sorts. Maybe it was because it was Christmas Day and the one day of the year that was entirely unique. No matter which day of the week it fell upon, Christmas Day had its own set of rules dictated by traditions.
Realising he was lost in thought, Tom shook himself out of the reverie and decided to turn up the charm offensive. He made a fuss of the decorations and admired the table, then strode around the room, waving his hands and chattering non-stop.
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